Enigma
by Ukaisha
Summary: Takuya's dark thoughts swell as he reflects on his expired lover, who had thought suicide was the only answer to all the pain. And as darkness breeds more darkness, and pain breeds more pain...death breeds more death. Read after "Crux."


Disclaimer: The author does not take  
Warnings: Slight Gore, Language, Sexual references.  
A/N: My favourite story. I swear, no matter what else I write, this one always makes me look back and think, you know, I'm proud of myself and what I can do, even when I'm feeling about as low as it gets. It's ironic that something so sad can make you feel so good.

_Enigma__  
_

I've always hated you, Kouji.  
You've always made my life a living hell. Before I had you in my life, I was happy. I wasn't whole, but I was blissfully ignorant of all the pain that surrounded me. But ever since you entered my life, I've become bitter. I've become a miserable, lonely person, and it's all because of you. I've changed, Kouji. I'm not as oblivious to the world as I once was, and you never understood that. The hurtful things you said to me, because you thought they didn't bother me, were just more and more stabs in my dark and dreary mind after you had touched it with your coldness.  
I hate you, Kouji, because of all the things you've done to me. And I hate you because of all the things you didn't do to me. I hate the things we never did together, and I hate that you never let us really be a couple. Was it because I was a man? Did I embarrass you that much? I never was your lover, was I? Just some guy who you just so happened to have a relationship with. Just something hidden and disgusting to hide under the bed and just send away when you didn't want it to be there. That was our relationship, if you could call it that.  
Isn't that how you looked at it, Kouji? Short, sweet, and to the point. That's how you whittled everything down. Everything had to be short and to the point, regardless or not whether it was sweet. You had no time or patience to actually deal with real situations, like a lover. Like me. You obviously couldn't deal with me, because that took time out of your little schedule. And it required you to make a commitment to someone, which was strictly forbidden in your goddamn little book of restrictions on yourself.  
I hate that you could never look me in the eye, and tell me that you loved me. I suppose in some little corner of your frosty, guarded heart, you cared for me, in some aspect. But you never would admit it, would you? You never wanted anyone to know, even me, that you could actually care for anyone but yourself. You were such an egocentric and conceited bastard.  
I hate you because every day of my young life was wasted with you, and the rest of it will be wasted now that I'm tainted with the remnants of your soul. I hate that no matter how much I try to love again and think about trying to be happy again, I think of you. Love and happiness cannot exist without you. And what's more, I hate that you only pretended to love me, and I now know you were fooling me. Pulling the wool over my eyes, Kouji? Isn't that what you do to those weaker than you? Isn't it always how you deal with the problems you don't know how to handle? You simply pretend it isn't there, then it's not, and that solves everything. But no, Kouji, I was here. I was always here.  
I hate that you used to look at me with coldness in your eyes, and lie to me about caring for me. I hate that when I questioned our relationship, you would chuckle and hug me close. You would smile that smile, that annoyingly smug little smile, like you knew something I didn't.  
"Taku-chan," you would mumble, nuzzling my neck, "you're so cute when you're possessive of me." You'd run your pretty little fingers through my hair, playing with the spikes lovingly, and you'd continue your illusionary affections until I was satisfied. Then you would leave me alone again. You would leave me feeling empty and cold, every single time. And as though I were a masochist, I fell for it again and again. I wanted to believe that maybe, just maybe, you had given up that defensive shell. Maybe you and I would finally live out our happily ever after. But it was never meant to be, was it Kouji? You hurt me again and again, and considering how often I let myself fall for it, I may as well have been inflicting the pain myself.  
I hadn't been possessive of you, asking if our relationship was happy. If you were happy. I know I'm not happy, because I hate you, Kouji; don't forget it. I don't remember if I was ever happy with you, though I knew we could've been if you let us, Kouji. Hell, if you had just once, even once, told me that you loved me and meant it, I'd have been so ecstatic I'd have probably fainted from the euphoria, if only just for you to catch me as I fell. But you couldn't even give me that, could you? You damned selfish bastard.  
I hate you because if anything, you were such a hypocrite. You're the possessive one, not me. How many of my friends have drifted because you wanted me all to yourself? How many phone calls have been interrupted because you didn't know who was on the other line? Were you that insecure about yourself? About us? How many times have I been unable to make new friends because you cling to my neck and glare rebelliously at whomever just so happens to be staring back at you? Did you like knowing that you controlled my social life, or are you just that sadistic, causing me pain and loneliness because you like seeing me depressed? Were you that distrusting of me, despite my assurance that I only cared for you? How many nights have I laid here, suffocating in dark and loneliness, even though you were right next to me?  
Did it make you happy to see me unhappy? 

Ten years. I've put up with your bull for ten years, and now you're gone. Your suicide note read that you hated that you'd failed me. You didn't want to hurt anymore from the knowledge of your failure, and most of all, that you didn't want me to hurt anymore. You couldn't allow yourself to make me hurt anymore. And then you went and killed yourself like the selfish jerk you are. You're such an idiot. Such an idiot to think that cutting your damn throat would cause me less pain than having you with me tonight. You didn't want me to hurt anymore, that's all you had to say. That's the only thing you could say, after all this?  
Well, guess what buddy, I've been hurting for ten years. The first time I even met you, you made me hurt. You don't remember, you know, you slammed your locker in my face. I'm sure it was an accident. Just another kid you hurt without really realizing it, or giving a damn about it. But I was hooked on you from the beginning. You were so deliciously intriguing, so strangely different from everyone else, such an enigma.  
I began to see you everywhere, to actually spot you in the crowd. You were like a beacon of colour and light in a chaotic slur of gray and dark. I couldn't understand you, because you were so different than those around you. You didn't wear any emotions on your sleeve, or expressions on your face. You rarely spoke, you rarely socialized, you barely existed; you just strolled to your classes and ignored the whole universe. There was nothing that interested you, and you were the only person in the world. You were just dark blue eyes and an empty, cool, intellectual devil behind them. And anyone who sought to prove you different? They were nothing more than flies that you simply had to swat away. Everything about you screamed control, and I came to realize you were always in control. Kouji was always -- always -- in control. Just like you were in control of the knife, Kouji. Just like you controlled the knife that sliced your jugular vein and killed you, all because you didn't want me to hurt. And I'd gladly let myself be hurt again, and again, if you would only come back to me.  
I was so intrigued with you to the point of being obsessed with you. I felt humiliatingly like a stalker as I followed you, walking through the school to the last possible second just to see your face, and I cursed our schedules again and again for us not having a single class together. I wanted to be near you, I wanted to talk to you. I needed to hear you and I needed to feel you, and all of that a hundred times over again. There was nothing that could distract me from you. But the one single time you and I passed each other, I was nothing more than the hundreds of others walking around you. I was nothing, in your mind, just another 'slave of generation', as you would put it. I tried to catch your eye, but your eyes were staring into elsewhere, somewhere dark and far away. And that was it. I was nothing important, and nothing worth noting.  
I don't know what you thought of me when I first told you I loved you. I actually had to corner you walking into a bathroom, and you were so hard to catch too. I wondered afterwards if you avoided restrooms on purpose for the very reason I cornered you. Now that I think about it, that wasn't the most strategic move. I can only imagine what went through your mind as a stranger ambushed you and confessed that they loved you. Stupid, Takuya, stupid.  
You never really responded, you know. All you did was tell me that I was sick, and then you gave me a black eye. It was surprising how much power you put into that punch. When I first saw you, your slim pale body, so lithe and feminine, I'd never have dreamed you could punch me hard enough to swell my eye shut for three days. It was actually a little ludicrous, but it simply intrigued me more. Who was this person with so much power?  
I'm always due for a laugh as I remember trying to explain the mark to my mother. What an amusing attempt that was. Yeah, mom, I told this drop-dead sexy guy I loved him, and he punched me. Oh yeah, did I mention I'm gay? Sorry, slipped my mind.

I hate you, Kouji, because even now, I still love you with a school boy crush that just never seems to end. I'm only twenty five and I feel like I'm fifty. The load you've made me carry is heavy, Kouji, and most days I don't want to carry it anymore. I don't want to wake up in the morning anymore. I don't want your memory to torture me anymore, and I hope you're burning in Hell for all the grief you've caused me. And I hope you rest safely in Heaven, if only because I love you and would hate for you to be in pain. You're such an asshole.  
I hate that you never found the time to hug me close, if just for the sake of warmth. I hate that you were so distant with me, and wanted me to still love you. I hate that I loved you when you never loved me, and I hate that I love you even now. I hate that I still feel this burning, aching need to be with you, even though I know that you never really cared. Because no matter what you told me, I knew you didn't really care. Whether we hugged, or kissed, or lovingly spoke to each other, I know it was a facade to keep me content, and to keep me silent. I hate that after we made love, you were so distant. You were so trapped in your mind during the afterglow that I never felt you were really with me, like a real lover would be as he reflected tenderly on the lover beside him. I worried about you because of how you stared into nothingness afterwards, so sadly. But when I asked you, time and time again what was wrong-  
"Taku-chan," you would sigh, "you shouldn't worry about me so much; do you want your hair to just suddenly go gray? Then don't be such so worrisome. Let me worry about everything."  
And then you would touch me again, bring me close to you again and kiss me so perfectly, you made me completely forget all of my concerns and worries. Your pale hands touching me, so firmly and so confidently, oh God, your stupid hands had that effect of making me completely lose my train of thought.  
But even then, I knew your passion wasn't real.  
I hate that you lied to me, assuring me you loved me, and it was nothing more than an opaque lie that I tried to at least pretend was real, if only because it was a cool salve that soothed the stinging burn of reality. I hate that you were so mysterious, and I hate that you would never honestly tell me what was wrong. Even when there was clearly, clearly, something wrong with you, you would never let me understand. I hate that you went into your stupid little 'moods' where you didn't want to bothered by anyone, and every time I approached you, you would bite my head off, like the honest-to-God jerk that you were.  
"Taku-chan, I don't want to talk," you'd tell me sharply as I tried to rub your shoulders. "Just go somewhere else for now, alright? I want to be alone."  
I wish you had let me give you company while you were 'alone'. Alone with your stupid thoughts that made you what you were. You thought too much, that was the problem. And not once in all of your continuous thoughts did you think that all I wanted to do was make you happy. But you couldn't let yourself be happy; that was another one of your stupid little rules. You were not allowed to be happy.  
I hate that you thought I would be disgusted with your past, or that I'd be disturbed by you because of it. Didn't you have a higher opinion of me than that? Did you honestly think I would turn from you because you had been wounded? I would've helped you, Kouji. With every iota of my being I'd have helped heal your wounds for you. But you never let me, you never let me even try.  
I did love you, Kouji, and I didn't care about your stupid past or the stupid things your stupid father did. It's your own stupid fault that everything is like it is now, not mine. I gave everything to you, and you left me with nothing. Just a stupid empty house that I sit in, every damn day of my life, staring at the stupid walls as they slowly collect a film of stupid dust, fully aware that I'm trapped in the prison of my mind, and failing to care. This is all I can do with my life: just stare at the shadows playing on the walls, wondering if I'm going mad.

The golden light of twilight slowly seeps into the room; another day is closing. Another check off of my life. Just another day since the eternity ago you went and killed yourself, jerk. The sky blushed fuchsia as the sun slowly began to die, and my eyelids drooped a little over my itchy burning eyes. I survived another day. There wouldn't be many more like this one, I could feel it even in my numb heart. I simply crawl back into bed, without bothering to shower, or make supper for myself. Hunger is a distant memory. There is no hunger anymore; the pain is all the same. I simply curl up on the wrinkled sheets you love so much, and lay my head on your favourite pillow, blankly staring at the walls. I barely recognize the change in position, and as soon as I assume it, I feel like I've always laid this way, wallowing in misery. This is all your fault. Everything is your fault. You asshole.

I hate that you were always such a jerk to me, even though you think I've forgotten. I'd always forgive you, Kouji, but I'd never forget. Sure, we would joke about my short term memory and how I so easily forgot and forgave things. But it was another lie, wasn't it, Kouji? Nothing more than another little lie to get us through the day.  
"Oh Taku-chan," you would scoff as you hid a chuckle, "you really are cute. If your head weren't attached to your neck you'd forget it everywhere you went."  
Ha. Ha. How funny. I'm laughing, really. Just like all the fake laughs we've ever had together.  
I so clearly remember, Kouji, when you calmly apologized for punching me. Sure, it was a week or so later, but it was the thought that counted right? At least that's what I told myself. It was one of the few times I saw you show regret when you looked at me. You tried to maintain your strict control, but even then I could see you were just shy. It was so cute, how could I have imagined it to be anything but real? How could I not forgive you? I remember clearly, Kouji, when you offered to buy me a soda as an apology, and I accepted. I remember talking for hours with you, all day long, even after school had ended. That was the clincher. You had the opportunity to leave me for your comfort zone, and you didn't. We walked aimlessly, forever, doing nothing, and just talking. It felt so right, despite the fact that you often clammed up for long stretches at a time, unable to respond to even the simplest of comments. I clearly remember you explaining that you were paranoid of most people around you, and that you rarely trusted anyone. I remember your distance and your coolness, and every stupid thing I said to try and cheer you up. I remember your cautious little laugh and the colour it put in your pale cheeks, and the little glow it put in your aged eyes. When I went home that night, you kissed my cheek, wished me good night, and thanked me for my company. You clearly saw that just that little action sent me straight to cloud nine, and though you were still embarrassed, you still seemed pleased.  
And ever since then, you didn't give a damn, did you?  
"Oh, Taku-chan," you would later sigh, laying your head on my shoulder and kissing my neck, "you're so cute when you're displeased with me. You have such the cutest pout."  
Sometimes, I would pout if only for you to tell me it was cute. It was so stupid, but I just needed you to praise me, if even for a pout. I felt like your dog sometimes, a sad little dog who could only hope his master would pay attention to him. A pitiful, attention hungry dog that starved and starved, whose desire for love was never sated.  
I was never displeased with you. I always loved you. I was slightly dismayed at your coldness sometimes, but I had never hated you until now. Don't get me wrong, because I do hate you. But you don't understand; you never understood, and you never wanted to. You never saw me for who I was. You never gave me a straight answer. You would lead me through mazes and give me cryptic responses because it amused you to see me uncomfortable. It amused you to no end just to see me worrying frantically about you and to nervously bite my lip in concern for your well being. Did you even care about my well being? Sometimes, Kouji, I doubt you did. But then, you would sometimes shower me with small gifts of random kindness, and sweet, tender displays of affection, and I almost felt you were really my lover. Then, you were cold, and so unreachable. You were always such an enigma, even in death.

Many people, who weren't homophobes, called me lucky; having a guy so beyond my boundaries and my level was pure luck. Even our parents, thank God they were so accepting, seemed somewhat happy for us, which at the time, meant the world to me. And at first, I thought everyone were right; I was lucky. You were beautiful. You were dangerously beautiful and you sent little chills down my spine. You were calm, cool, and collected. You were intelligent enough to uphold a conversation with me, or anyone really, and always come out on top. You were witty and clever, and you made my heart burst every time you smirked. I loved that impish smirk. My heart danced, and hell, it jumped and rolled and squirmed and did just about every damn thing you ever did with your carefully calculated smile. But you never let me in, Kouji. You would never let me into the carefully erected fortress around your heart, so that I could see your real smile.  
I hate that you caused me so much pain, Kouji. Not physical pain, no, you could never hurt me any more then you could remove the moon from the sky. If anything, you were always so gentle. You were so careful with me, treating me as if I were glass that may break. You would never hurt me, never.  
You could've been a lazy slob who went on a drinking binge every night after work, and then came home to beat up on whatever happened to be in your way. But you weren't, Kouji, and I'm grateful at least for that. Grateful that you were at least kind with me, even if the kindness was cold. You could've been a raving lunatic who screamed at me and yelled in disgust at every wrong little thing I did. You could've been a single-minded pervert who only saw me as an object of sex, but, you weren't. You could've hurt me in many ways, but you didn't. You just hurt me in the smallest way possible, and it's got such a heavy effect on me. What disturbs me is that maybe I hate you for no reason. Maybe I'm over exaggerating, and maybe, I didn't have it so bad with you. That disturbs me because then I think about how much I'm hating you, even in death, and I wonder if I was the problem, not you. I sometimes wish you had been a raving lunatic or a sluggish jerk, if only for me to have reason to honestly hate you. But, you weren't. You were nothing of the sort, and I can only hate you if only for the emptiness in my heart.  
You left me numb inside, Kouji. You never gave me the love I needed from you. You never gave me the life I wanted us to share together, because of your own stupid fears. You never could just shed yourself of the barriers you carefully positioned around you, because you were afraid I would hurt you. You were such an idiot. How could you have thought that me, of all people, would ever want to hurt you?

I remember our first date. Surprisingly, it was you who initiated it, which I never expected. It was nothing, just a movie. You most likely didn't intend for me to take it as a date at first, but even you should admit that it was, in fact, a date. I enjoyed just being near you and my heart fluttered at every thought I had involving the words 'Kouji' and 'date'. Later, as I thought about my behavior, I felt like slapping myself for being so disturbingly similar to a giddy schoolgirl. But you, you were quiet and kept your space from me. You were uncomfortable and twitchy as if more than simply nervous, perhaps even downright terrified. I tried to slip my hand onto yours, and you simply pulled away. Our first date ended in quick and embarrassed good byes as you seemed eager to get away. At first I was disappointed, but then you called me the next day, and my mind was clear and pleasant. I hate that you were just so manipulative you little bastard; you could somehow talk me into completely changing sides. I wonder if when you sliced your throat that day, that one stupid day, you had to manipulate yourself. I wonder if you wished then you weren't so damn convincing, didn't you?  
I remember our first kiss. Short, simple, and embarrassing though it was, I remember it. I used to look back and laugh at it, but now, the memory is painful.  
It was on Christmas Eve; our first Christmas. You had no interest for the holiday and did not seem to care to even fake a jolly, merry mood to match the season, but there you were, giving me a stupid present anyway. I hate that it felt like you always were trying too hard to seem appealing, like if you weren't perfect, no one would accept you. And I hate that at other times, you tried so hard to see unappealing, so that no one would want you. It should have been as fulfilling as loving a puppet, and yet, I loved you anyway. I hate, Kouji, that I always loved you even when you were acting your feelings as though through a script. You tried to 'pass' for a person, and you were such a fake. You were just such a selfish fake whom I couldn't help but adore.  
My younger brother, Shinya, was the one who pointed it out; you and I were standing under mistletoe. We just stood there, gawking at each other, and I could practically see the words floating in your mind; _'What do I do?'_  
Shinya 'oohed' and began making puckering motions for us to kiss. I expected you to walk away like your usual cold self, because after all, who'd ever heard of Kouji being emotional and human-like? But instead you suddenly lunged at me, and I can think of nothing more descriptive than 'lunge', and kissed me. For a moment I was completely dumbfounded as to what just happened, and could hardly begin to comprehend that your tongue was requesting me, firmly, to open my mouth. When I finally complied, you kissed me. For a few, sweet seconds, you really, truly kissed me. I remember that it felt so real, like for once, you actually just might have put a little of yourself into it. It was bliss to have you kissing me like we really were lovers. You were shy, awkward, stiff, but for the first time, I could sense a 'loving' feeling from you. I thought, then, that nothing would ever make me happier than a kiss like that. But Shinya interrupted it as I reached my hand up to hold your head, and instantly you returned to your normal self, leaving me kissing air as cold as you. Cool, distant, uncaring Kouji was back, and the lover I felt in you for that brief moment was, once again, hidden deep. You simply waved my hand away, shoved your own in your pockets, and immediately wore a look of indifference. Like an actor changing roles again.  
"You guys are weird," Shinya gagged, then ran to his room laughing. Little punk.  
Then, I was disappointed, because you refused to kiss me again. I even subtly guided you under the mistletoe again, but you ignored it. You wanted absolutely nothing to do with me all of a sudden, and it hurt. It hurt, Kouji, that one moment you can be so tender, and the next you can be so empty and cruel. You left in a rush, suddenly very anxious to leave. You promised me you would call, but I was too disappointed to care. I just stared at the floor and nodded. So you left me that night, and never properly told me why. You left me alone on Christmas Eve. You jerk. I never opened your present, all I wanted was you. Now, I sometimes wish I had opened that present, because the few things you gave to me, even material, are precious gems to me. But I still hate you, Kouji; don't forget it.

Memories. I hate the memories the most. The horrible, detailed memories that plague me every moment of my life. Every second of every day, I am not shrouded with darkness or despair, but memories. I still see you, even though you're gone. I still sense you sleeping just beside me -- on your back, like always -- but when I turn to cry on your shoulder, your side is cold and empty, just like you were. I have no one to cry on, and so I cry alone. I still feel your mind and your soul in this stupid place, constantly reminding me of the ache I feel in my very being. The memories are what I hate. I can only try to dig my face into your favourite pillow, hiding like a child from the monster under the bed, and hiding from the darkness in our room and from your essence that is always following me. But I can never really hide from them; I can never shy from them. Your memory is haunting me until death.

I remember our first time together. We were young, seventeen year old punks, still not quite adults and but definitely not children. I shouldn't have expected anything lavishly romanced. I should've known what to expect, because you were you. And after about two years, I had decided to just let you be you. I had slowly learned, after time and time again, that I should not be disappointed with what you do to me. I would only get depressed and moody, and that would make you shy away from me. I needed you far, far more than I needed to always have my expectations fulfilled. I had decided... that was life, right? I didn't want you to be perfect; I wanted you, and only you.  
But somehow, I was expecting something... more.  
"Oh Taku-chan," you would sigh as you shook your head and smiled. "You're such a hopeless romantic, sometimes the things you say sound so bizarre."  
Bizarre? I'm bizarre, Kouji, because I had hopes for our first time? You didn't respond to that, it just sent you into your damn little dream world. God, Kouji, I hate that you would never respond to me. You would occasionally answer me, when you were damn good and ready, naturally, but an honest-to-God-response, was that so far beyond your reach? I hate that you never _talked_ to me, Kouji. I hate that I felt, time and time again, like you didn't trust me enough to talk to me.  
Don't get me wrong Kouji, I'm not saying our first time was really that bad, or your performance was off. I was a virgin after all, I can't have expected myself to have been much better. I was just a teenager, and sex was essentially the ultimate unknown, yet the ultimate desire. Looking back, I suppose I might have over exaggerated just a little bit. But at the time... it just, it killed me, Kouji.

You were so damn touchy that day. We both were. We knew what we wanted; we knew what the other wanted. And we were alone. There is nothing tenser then two hormone crazed teenagers --one of whom is the literal definition of 'tense'-- in a house, alone, without anyone to bother them for who knows how long. You couldn't have acted touchier around me if I'd had a bomb strapped to my chest. I wanted you, I could feel you wanted me too, but you were just had to be so damn distant. As always, I seemed to be just out of reach in your little world, and you could never completely give yourself, the real you, to me. I flirted shamelessly with you, trying to build up your confidence, but it was like everything that dragged on to that moment when we suddenly were kissing was causing you physical pain. You stopped three times before finally giving in and kissing me deep, and by that time, I felt so awkward I almost didn't want to go on. But at the promise of feeling good, we let it continue. Never mind the embarrassing foreplay, sex would be good, right? We were so good for each other; we'd be great together, right?  
Your house, your room, your bed. Everything was your familiarity. I thought that would make you more comfortable, but it didn't. I wondered why your nerves were so frayed at the thought of sex, but you would never tell me, even up to your dying day. Everything was slow and shy at first, and for a moment I wondered if you shared the same "bizarre" desire for a slow, meaningful first time, but then you were ripping my clothes off with sudden confidence and boldness. Your kisses were quick and lustful, but not at all loving or passionate. Instead of feeling sexy and aroused as I lay naked on your bed, I felt embarrassed and out-of-place, like I shouldn't even be there. Immediately I was on my knees and I could feel your saliva slick fingers in me, prodding and poking and stretching. I heard you panting deeply behind me, like an out of control animal, and it scared me. At first it felt good, very good, but it wasn't what I expected, or wanted. None the less, I didn't ask you to stop, and I didn't ask you to try something different. Maybe, at the time, I thought that if we couldn't experience each other now, we never properly could. You were so contained, how could I know that this wouldn't be the only time you would let your guard down? Or worse, if I stopped you, would your confidence in yourself during sex be so shattered that you'd never want to do it again? I was so young and so selfish; I thought I would die if I was forced to never have sex again. Of course, that doesn't seem so important, now.  
I was hoping you would turn me on my back so that I could look at you and kiss you and caress you as you made love to me, but no, you took me almost the second your fingers were removed. You pushed me forward hard and I was thrown into the mattress, so I rested my front half on your bed while you held my bottom half in the air. You were hard and fast, entirely opposite of what I wanted, and I had to grab the sheets to steady myself. But I let you continue, because you liked it, and I suppose it did still feel kind of good. I wished at the time you could be gentler with me; you were moving so rapidly that I was feeling discomfort and pain, even after being stretched. But I said nothing. You somehow had this hold over my mind that made me silent, save for a few groans or moans I couldn't suppress, either of pain or of pleasure. They felt the same, our first time, Kouji. I had to make myself come; you were too absorbed in using me, in taking me. It felt like there was no connection. It felt almost like we weren't even boyfriends, lovers, whatever term. You had to be so damn cold, even during sex. To be blunt with you, it almost felt like rape.  
I hate you, Kouji, because our first time was so impersonal. You never even looked at me.  
I remember your face when you had finished, Kouji. You were lying right next to me, how could I not have noticed it? Even after reaching your peak, a point that should totally engulf you in contentment, your expression was dark, and I could see self-disgust written on it instead of shameless bliss.  
"Damnit," you cursed under your breath, hitting your forehead. "I'm such an idiot. I'm such a damn, selfish asshole."  
I couldn't have said it better myself, but, it hurt to see you so loathing of yourself. Though I was the one who wanted to cry, I tried to comfort you. I tried to assure you that I did like it, but you were already trapped in one of your dark moods, and nothing I could say would help. My words were nothing to you.  
"I'm sorry," you said quietly, shaking your head and scoffing at disbelief at yourself. "I was going to try, damnit, I was. But I'm such an idiot, I couldn't even follow-" You made a deep growling noise in your throat, and it concerned me that you were so angry after sex, so bitter. "Hormones," you spit out, cursing them with their own name.  
Once you set an opinion of yourself, there was no changing it. It was written in stone. You were bad, you were insensitive, and you were a jerk. You were pathetic, you were unsatisfying, and you were disgusting. And nothing I said would make you think otherwise.  
Afterwards, you only devoted sex to pleasuring me. I always had to come first, before you would even allow yourself to, no matter what I did. Often you went without receiving any kind of pleasure yourself, and you would reject any offers I made to "help you out." I hate when you felt like you needed to punish yourself, when the person who loved you more than anything in the world could forgive you in a heartbeat.

Memories. Sickening dark clouds of memories, like a mist of angry fog overloading my mind. I could think of nothing but you, you, you. It was making me feel sick and restless as I repeatedly turn over in our bed. All I wanted was to roll over into your arms and let you hold me, and at least try to comfort me, but you weren't there. Your side was empty. And so your memories continued their tormenting.

I hate that you left me, Kouji. I hate you because you left this world without me. I hate that you never let me heal the wounds and skid marks that left you so vulnerable, and yet so powerful. I hate that you never honestly let me see the real you, under all of the attitude, pessimism, and swearing. I hate that everything I ever saw or knew of you when you were alive was an illusion. And I hate that you hid yourself for my benefit, and I never realized it until now. I hate that here I am, hating you so much it sears a hole in my heart, and you only hid yourself from me to protect me. I didn't need you to protect me; I needed you to love me. I needed you to open yourself to me and to show me you, the real you, buried deep inside of your dark mind. And that in the end, I would be the one protecting you. Perhaps that's why you never let me care for you. You were too independent, and too damn proud to allow anyone to see the real you, huddled in a corner like a frightened child.  
I hate that even now, Kouji, weeks after your death, I'm still in excruciating pain because I'm still deeply in love with you. You took a chunk of my heart with you to your grave, Kouji, and I'll never have it back as long as you're not in my life anymore.  
I hate that you took your own precious life, Kouji. I hate that you even gathered the concept of suicide in your narrow and selfish little mind, and I hate you even more for actually committing such a horrible act. I hate that it makes me feel like you're punishing me by leaving me all alone, like you always were. You've always been trying to punish me for a crime I've never been sure of. And I hate that sometimes, you made me feel like I deserved to be punished. But despite all of that, I need you. Because without you, Kouji, as much as I hate you, I can't live without you. I can't take a single second in the morning without wishing I had woken up in your arms, without you kissing my cheek and holding me close. I can't think straight, knowing that I woke up completely alone and wishing you could've made love to me, just one more time, before you went and died like the selfish jerk you are. I can't look at myself in the mirror without sobbing, wondering why I had even awoken. I especially can't stand to look at myself in a mirror, because all I see is a pathetic, loveless man whose only reason for living slashed his throat, and left him all alone.  
And I can't help but thinking of what I did wrong, what I could've done, if only to make you happy. I can't help but wonder if it was something that I did that drove you to the ultimate destruction of life. And what if it was? Does that make me responsible for your death? Did I kill you, Kouji? Is that why you're killing me now?

Every day I go to sleep and every day I wake, I hate that picture I see of you. I hate that horrible, disgusting, beautiful picture of you on my nightstand. I hate your chilling navy eyes that burn into my soul when I stare at them, and your glossy black hair that hangs in a loose ponytail down your back. I hate your aloof and nonchalant attitude in the photograph; it's such a fake compared to the real you. I hate that you're smiling in that photograph, and I know that it's a lie. It's a lie frozen in time, as proof of your illusionary existence. I hate staring at it and staring at it, non-stop, urging to reach out and touch you and kiss you and feel your warmth against me, but as I touch you, you vanish. The picture is cold, and unsatisfying, like you. Everything it represents about you is perfect, but it's not you. It's not enough to see your face in a picture. It's not enough to sooth the stabbing in my heart, and I just hate it even more.  
Even now, as I think dully of all the reasons that I hate you, and drown in all of the memories that I have, I can't help but love you. And even now, staring into the darkness of our empty room and at your illusion of a face, I love you so much that is makes my entire chest ache with constant pain as I realize again and again that you will never, ever come back to me. You win, Kouji, you win.  
And I'm sure that makes a jerk like you happy, doesn't it? That I will never be at peace because of you. Maybe that was your master plan all along.  
I hate you because I love you, Kouji, and I love you because I imagined, once upon a time, that you loved me too.  
No torment is greater than knowing you aren't with me. Nothing hurts worse than being so unsure, did you die loving me? Or did you die because you no longer loved me? I long to ask you, Kouji. I need an answer. I need to hear you tell me again and again that you love me, if you still do or ever did, and one day, I hope that I can finally be allowed to see you, and feel you, and love you. The real you; the frightened and pained little child afraid of everyone around him.  
I wonder if I could kill myself. I wonder if I did, would I be with you again? Would we be in Heaven together? Or Hell... I would even brace myself for Hell if I found you there, Kouji. I wonder if when you die, you're reincarnated. If killed myself, would we both be reborn again? Maybe we could meet again, and you would be a happier person. You would be content with life and you'd be emotionally capable of loving me. Maybe I would be able to finally love you, to wrap my arms around you, and say, "I'm yours forever" without receiving rolled eyes in return. Maybe nothing even happens when you die, I don't know. Maybe I'll live the rest of eternity simultaneously hating you and loving you, without any means of relief.

I hate you because you chose the very best time to kill yourself, you ass, the very perfect time that would hurt me the most. You probably waited and waited until that exact day just to punish me, didn't you? You sadistic, selfish, arrogant bastard!  
You had to, just had to, kill yourself the day before our anniversary. That was the clincher, that's what drove me to this point. Ten years. Ten years I wait for you to love me, and you go and kill yourself like the son of a bitch you are. All I did was go shopping so I could make a nice dinner, damnit, I'd spent all year learning how to cook and burned myself God knows how many times, all just for you. And when I come home, I find you lying there. Can your self-centered little mind even imagine how horrible it was to come home, the day before our anniversary, to see you lying in this damn bed with a pool of blood under your head and a river of red dripping into your shirt? To walk into this bedroom, thinking of how much I love you and maybe thinking of having some wine and making love again, and there you are, just lying in this stupid bed, and finding you here. To see your lifeless body there and your eyes staring blankly at me, almost mockingly at me. Here are the eyes you loved, Takuya, the eyes that entranced you from the beginning, the eyes you so adored to stare into. Here are the eyes of the man you love, dead, like they've always been, and like he is now.  
Well, you know what? It hurt. It hurt pretty damn much, Kouji. And it didn't just hurt, it ruined me. Utterly. I hate you so much Kouji, it's just so... _infuriating_, it makes me so damn angry to even think of you, to imagine you just lying in this damn bed! And you know what you jerk? I washed the sheets, and kept them, because I know they were your very favourite to sleep on. I know how much you loved these damn comfy sheets. Even now in the darkness, where I can hardly see a thing, I can see the dark red stain that simply refused to wash out. Your goddamn blood Kouji, you spilled your own goddamn blood just to punish me. It makes me so-

It slipped. I swear, God, and on your grave, the knife just slipped. At first I was just testily scratching my arm, as though I were rubbing an itch. I was just curious, that's all, I didn't actually intend to do anything. Then it got harder, and harder, and I swear, it slipped. It was a nice, sharp knife, and it required little effort to pierce the skin. That's all. It's not like I was putting forth a real effort to kill myself or anything. I hadn't even put the knife on my nightstand for that reason. I'd just...put it there. That's all. It's nothing serious Kouji; you don't have to be concerned with it, just a little scratch. Barely any blood at all.  
But that damn little scratch, as I stared at it, it looked kind of like a part of your name. A tiny little line in your name, in Kanji, and it seemed so stupid to have it there without completing it, so I had to finish it. It's not that I was trying to kill myself or anything; I just wanted to see your name again. Your sweet, beautiful name; I just wanted to write it. Once, just once, and that's all I wanted to do. Once your name was etched in my skin, I decided to write it again, only bigger. And I wrote your damn name again, and again, and again in my arm. I didn't feel any pain, and I shouldn't have, considering I was just writing your name; I really wasn't trying to kill myself. Honest.  
There, are you happy now? I really am yours, forever and ever. You wanted me to belong to you, and now I do, you selfish jackass.  
There was a little blood smeared all over my arm now, but, it didn't feel very serious. It's nothing Kouji, really, don't be concerned. I'm just writing your name a bit, because I hate you; don't forget it.  
I began to write your name again, but this time, I wrote on the underside of my arm. Thinking of you, God, thinking of you got me so upset; I had to do it just a little harder, because I wanted you to feel it too. After I'd finished this one, blood steadily seeped up. It might've gone a little deeper than I meant it to, but really, Kouji, it's just a scratch. It's nothing serious Kouji, I wouldn't actually kill myself. I'm just reminding myself of how much I hate you.  
I began again, but instead of making one smooth line, the knife went in deeply with a jagged cut. I had to cry out; it did really hurt. I wasn't expecting that. But don't worry Kouji; I'm sure it was nothing serious. I went to continue writing your name, but my arm was shaking. My aim wasn't true, and I simply stuck the blade in the same spot, digging in deeper, and the pain was screaming in my brain. I managed to finish your name again, but it was deformed and illegible, because it all stemmed from a single cut where I repeatedly stuck the blade, again and again. It doesn't hurt Kouji, it's alright, and I'm okay. You don't need to worry about me, if you ever did.  
I think maybe this time, I struck a vein, or an artery, or I don't know, something. Something was wrong. The blood was coming up far faster then it was before and my arm suddenly felt... strange. But I'm sure it was alright, one little cut wouldn't kill me. Even you, Kouji, had to actually slice your throat open just to kill yourself. That's far more extreme than just a name cut into my skin, or two, or six, or ten...  
It was really hurting now, and my entire arm was stinging with your name. I wanted to stop, and I wanted to keep going. I was torn between wanting to live and wanting to see you again, but I realized: How could the former exist without the latter?  
One more time. I had to finish it one more time, because I wanted your damn name all over my skin. I attempted to make another line. Again it went in too deep, and a fresh flow of blood burst at a horrifyingly rapid pace from my skin. God, I thought blood only spewed that quickly in movies. I couldn't stop crying as I watched my blood seeping up from your name, but I had to make another line, just one more little one...and I swear, I'll be finished.  
Done. There, you jerk, now your name is completely written all over my arm.

I hissed and held it close to my chest, trying to stop the blood from coming so quickly, but I must've really gotten that vein. It was pouring from my destroyed skin and staining the sheets that already were blood red, colouring them darker and expanding the stain. Oh, God, did I really not notice how hard I really was scripting your name? I didn't mean it to end this way, dirtying the sheets with my blood as you had yours.  
It hurt so bad, but after the initial shock wore off, it wasn't that horrible. I was going numb, and I found that I didn't really mind, laying my head down on your favourite blood-stained pillow, to just die. I was still crying, and coddling my bleeding arm, but I didn't regret it; not really. It was actually okay that it was going to end like this. In fact, I was glad it was.  
I find it ironic that it's your name that's killing me, Kouji.  
I find it ironic that this is how it's all going to end. You killed yourself because you didn't want me to hurt. I killed myself because I couldn't take the pain.  
Ha. Ha.

I kissed your name, your sweet, bloody name that was etched into my skin, and then I squeezed my arm to make sure the flow wouldn't stop. I didn't want it to stop; I wanted it to flow forever. I'm only vaguely concerned how long it will be until someone finds my body. Don't you remember, Kouji? You kept me away from friends and family so long, I've lost touch. And because of you and your selfishness, my body may very well be here for weeks. But, I don't really care. Why would I care about this old body, anyway? Even if there is nothing after this, at least I won't feel pain anymore.  
Oh, God, Kouji. I hate you so much. Or maybe, I hate you because I hate myself. And trust me; I hate myself so much right now. But, I hate myself because I so passionately hate you. And I hate you so much, Kouji, because I'm desperately in love with you. I love you so much because you're so mysterious, and you're such a jerk. I love you so much because you're so distant and you're so shy and sweet, and restrained. I love you because of all the beautiful, wonderful memories I have of you. I love you so much because you were such a child in your mind, and I love you because of the gentle, loving way you treated me. I love you so much because you were such an enigma.  
I want to see you in Heaven so I can hug you as tightly as I can, and then so that I can smack your face for leaving me the way you did. I want to see you again so I can kiss you with all the passion I feel for you, and so I can yell at you for being such an idiot. I want to love you forever Kouji, because when I think about me, and everything I've ever believed, I love you so much for all the reasons that I hate you.  
Please, Kouji, love me too.


End file.
